


My nth Chance – Post-Polarized

by Yurikamome



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:44:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5057956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yurikamome/pseuds/Yurikamome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That should be “My nth Chance”, with superscript, as in nth term, but oh well. So, this is my attempt to create what would come after the credits roll. (Eventually) multi-part.<br/>---<br/>Chloe checks her cards. It's not a good hand. A high card hand. Two queens are the best she's got. But she doesn't care. She's enjoying Max's hopeless attempt at a poker face. Her friend's state of barely-concealed child-like excitement over something as pointless as a card game is worth far more to her than the few dollars they are betting over.<br/>[...]<br/>And that's when all the colour – what little there was – drains out of her girlfriend's face. In the space of two or three seconds, it looks as though Max has aged years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My nth Chance – Post-Polarized

**Author's Note:**

> That should be “My nth Chance”, with superscript, as in nth term, but oh well.
> 
> So there weren't many times throughout episodes 1-4 where I thought, no, my Max wouldn't take any of the options she's being given, she'd do this other, oh so obvious thing. But the – in my opinion, thoroughly disappointing – ending to Polarized made me feel like that in a big, big way. The Max I know, that I've seen grow, and hurt, and live maybe for the first time in her life, would not take either of those choices as given come the end of that week. She would say: fuck that, I'm Maxine Caulfield, time warrior, and I will not let fate, or time, or destiny take either Chloe or the Bay and the people in it away from me. So, this is my attempt to create what would come after the credits roll. It will be, as you can probably guess from the start below, multi-part. 
> 
> And if Dontnod fancy creating an episode 6 in similar spirit, I'm sure they'd find a community eager to kickstart it… I can dream.

Chloe checks her cards. It's not a good hand. A high card hand. Two queens are the best she's got. But she doesn't care. She's enjoying Max's hopeless attempt at a poker face. Her friend's state of barely-concealed child-like excitement over something as pointless as a card game is worth far more to her than the few dollars they are betting over. Her – her _girl_ friend; her mind corrects itself, hesitant, but eager. She feels a warm glow spread slowly through her. Even though it has been mere hours since they'd agreed – fumblingly, shyly, both of them keeping their physical distance, eyes not really meeting – that that should probably be the word for what they were now, she knew that thinking those words would never get old. Chloe lets her eyes play over Max's face for the thousandth time that day. She has looked at Max like this before, of course. But before she'd never thought – barely dared even _hope_... but now she can look, and think: _You_ _'re_ _mine, Ma_ _x._  And, just maybe, later it would actually sink in, and she would find the courage to kiss Max. Max had already kissed her twice. Sort of.

That first time, she had been so surprised. She had taunted Max – dared her – not expecting – but hoping. And Max _had._ But it hadn't addressed Chloe's – well disguised, she hoped – ulterior motive. Could Max like her like that? Would she? But Max, as ever, gave nothing away. Intentionally, or unintentionally, Chloe had no idea, but Max had always been a closed book on _that_ topic, or any topic vaguely relating to it. And it was, after all, only a dare; open to interpretation. Chloe had backed off pretty fast, panicked all of a sudden. Maybe if Chloe had held her nerve, she could had known then…

So Chloe had gradually pushed her luck all week long – _boys, or girls?_ She cringes now, inwardly, thinking of that moment. She had pointed at the changing rooms, yet the double meaning should have been obvious… But Max, as ever, had seemed totally innocent, unaware, naive – _girls, of course?_ In her imagination, for kicks, Chloe had repeatedly placed that little soundbite in a different context. But it hadn't answered her question…

The second time, two days ago, it was with Future-Max. A total shock – but an awesome one. Chloe didn't really get how that future/present Max-switching worked, other than it occurred "inside" photos - or so Future-Max insisted (Chloe was pretty sure she wasn't in a photo). The Maxes didn't share the same memories, or at least, any memory was one-way. However, it was definitely the same Max – only subtly different – Future-Max was somehow more confident, less shy, but sad, and lonely. But nonetheless, the same Max. Her Max. But her Max from the future, and it hurt her so much to think that she would face those – things – that she wouldn't speak of in those brief moments she took control of Present-Max, as if by remote control. On the occasion in question, Future-Max had looked like she had been through hell – quite literally – and Chloe wouldn't believe she was okay. So Future-Max had kissed her – for real – no dare – to shut her up. It had worked.

She wasn't sure the kiss really counted. Present-Max didn't remember it, as was clearly evident when she got control of her body back, and Chloe hadn't said anything – of course. But it had given her the courage to – gently – raise just how exactly she felt for Max… and Max had gone weirdly quiet, for half the damn day. It had nearly killed Chloe, thinking all the while that she'd done something awful, made some terrible mistake. Wishing it was _her_ that could rewind time. But Future-Max had said they couldn't be apart even for a second otherwise everything would fail, as Chloe had carefully relayed – so Present-Max had stayed – and then – that evening – opened up to her – albeit from the other side of Chloe's bedroom, staring intently at the carpet like it was the most interesting thing in the world, and playing shyly with the fabric of her sweatshirt sleeves. Chloe only realised later that if Max had felt so bad about it, she could have rewound time and stopped Chloe saying anything in the first place - distracted her - changed the topic - or something. But then Chloe wouldn't have known she shouldn't bring it up again - and... thinking about it made Chloe's head hurt. Perhaps it was best Max had the power after all.

Max snaps her back to reality. “So, Chloe, I'm waiting-” Max taunts her, her voice happy, rising with a musical tone…

Chloe looks back at her cards. Of course, she might have been taking the game more seriously had Max accepted her suggestion to play _strip_ poker, but _that_ had been unceremoniously shot down. _Not in a thin plastic tent when_ _just about_ _anyone could step in,_ _without warning_ _. Not during the daytime,_ _in broad daylight!_ _And not with Joyce and David in the tent right next door –_ _when_ _they probably_ _even_ _heard Chloe_ _just_ _make the suggestion,_ _and, oh my god, that was so_ _embarrassing._ Apparently. Chloe had tried sulking, tried making sad puppy dog eyes at Max, but she had had to settle for the mortified, whispered agreement to play it at some time in the future – arrangements to be determined. _I won't forget it,_ _Supermax._

And that's when all the colour – what little there is – drains out of her girlfriend's face. In the space of two or three seconds, it looks as though Max has aged years. Her face changes. Lines form at the corners of her eyes. Her smile falls away into a bleak and terrible line. And purple stains form under her eyes, that transform at once from delighted, to cold and hard. Max crumples forward, face heading for floor. Chloe drops her cards in shock, and lunges forward just in time to catch Max by the shoulders.

“Max, oh my god, Max, what is it?” Chloe's voice is high with rising panic. She turns, and yells out. “Hey, HEY! Max is sick! Get a fucking doctor! Hey, is anyone-” Max coughs twice, violently, her body wracked by the force. She tries to say something – an inaudible whisper. Chloe leans forward to hear, but Max vomits in her lap, and collapses face first into Chloe's shoulder.

“Holy fuck-” Chloe feels as though her heart has stopped; she's dizzy, nauseous and disorientated all at once. Terror twists her stomach painfully. And _then_ she raises a hand and realises that it isn't Max's lunch all over her – but her blood. Thick, crimson red blood. She stares, wide eyed and in shock. Pinpricks of sweat break out on her forehead. She feels herself go cold.

Chloe is on her feet and turning, Max's limp body in her arms. _Must – get help._ Before Chloe can make it to the tent's exit, the outer zipper is opening from the outside, and David's concerned face appears in the gap.

“Chloe- I-” His eyes move from Chloe's petrified face, to Max, and immediately he's pulling the tent open with one hand and reaching for his phone with the other and dialling and calling out: “Joyce! Find a doctor! Max needs help!”

He's beckoning for her to bring Max outside, already on the line with a nine-one-one operator. Chloe follows automatically, her body on auto-pilot, her mind not in the moment.

Joyce rushes over from the neighbouring tent, takes one look at Max, and, wasting no time, is hurrying off across the camp in the direction of the main pavilion.

“Yes, the Arcadia Bay evacuee FEMA camp. Yes. Let me check-” David's voice is calm. In control. It might have made Chloe feel a little better, if she could focus on anything but Max's face. Still. Eyes closed. And bloody; twin red streaks are flowing freely from her nostrils. She looks dead. Or dying. _Oh god oh god oh god-_

“Chloe, put her here, quickly- yes- I'm checking- no- not awake- breathing-?”

Chloe lowers Max slowly to the ground, lays her gently on the grass. She's very careful with Max's head. David pushes her aside softly, and leans over Max. Checks her breathing, her pulse. Chloe paces back and forth, wringing her hands repeatedly.

“Yes, breathing. Lightly. Fast pulse. Not steady- an injury?” David looks at Chloe. “Chloe – Chloe! Look at me!”

Chloe stops pacing, looks at him. She's losing it. David can tell. “Calm down Chloe. Max is going to be fine. But she needs our help. Now tell me – what happened?”

“I don't fucking know okay. She was fine. She was sitting there with me. And then she just throws up blood and collapses on me-”

David is back on the phone. “No- no external injury. She vomited blood, lost conciousness.” He leans over Max again. “She has a nosebleed. Bad. Some kind of haemorrhage? I don't know. No- no- no recent medical issues, no medical conditions-” He looks to Chloe for confirmation, she nods, trying to hold herself together. “Look, whatever it is, it's urgent. We need help here fast. The camp has a doctor – but – blood loss – okay, air ambulance, right – okay – no, we won't move her again-”

Chloe slumps beside Max's head, tears in her eyes. She touches Max's hair lightly. “Come on Max, don't do this to me. Please. I just got you back-”

“Don't move her Chloe, keep her still. Can you hold her head? At an angle – yeah – like that – okay – I'm going to find Joyce and that damn doctor – Max _will_ be fine, okay? Just stay calm.”

Chloe nods, wanting to believe, turns back to Max, places a hand either side of her head to keep her still; Max is starting to shake. David sprints off in the direction that Joyce took, phone still in his hand.

Chloe's hands are shaking, her body threatening to go into shock, but she wills herself to stay there, in the moment, and hold Max's head as still as she can. Max's eyes open, and Chloe nearly jumps for joy. Nearly.

“Ch- Chloe- I-”

“Oh, Max. Max. Supermax. Everything is gonna be okay- just stay with me-”

“Chloe – listen – listen to me – I need – tell me – what – happened-”

“You just got a bit dizzy Max, you fainted. You'll be fine-”

“No – I mean – this week – is – are you okay – Chloe – you're fine, not hurt?”

“I will be fine as soon as you're all better Max-”

“And Kate-”

“Kate's fine-”

“Victoria?”

“Fine – look – Max – we have to worry about you, okay?”

“No, Chloe, this is important – is – Jefferson-” Max coughs, shaking violently. She touches her lips, and her fingers come away bloody. She doesn't seem to care.

“That fucking psycho creep is going to fucking jail, Max. We, and, okay, David-”

“And David, and Joyce-”

“They're fine – not even a scratch-”

“Arcadia?”

“Totally fucked of course, but no-one's there. It's a ghost town. We made sure-”

“So, everyone – _everyone_ is fine?” Max's voice changes. The strain goes out of it a little. She calms. “Everything is fine?” She sounds like she can scarcely believe it. Her eyes take on a distant glaze. Chloe feels the panic surge back.

“Of course everything is fine. We. Made. Sure. But now we have to make sure you-”

“The scrapbook, you have it – the photos – our diary-?”

“Of course Max, we haven't let it out of our sight. Like - you said - we and that fucking book have been attached all week-”

“Can I see it-”

“No fucking way Max, I'm not leaving. You're the priority here- Max- MAX!”

Max's eyes close, and she's no longer conscious. Chloe's pleas fall on deaf ears.

**Author's Note:**

> If you spot any typos or anything please let me know. My (empty) tumblr here: http://deeplyconflictedrobot.tumblr.com/


End file.
